TRAIN-THEMED EATERY IS OFF-TRACK

Palmer House Hilton executives may have had Daniel Burnham's directive to "make no small plans" in mind when they created The Big Downtown. Everything about the restaurant is big, from the marquee-like street entrance to menu descriptions as long-winded as the politicians who gave the Windy City its nickname.

The concept, a throwback to a 1970s taste for ersatz turn-of-the-century ambiance, combines trains and theater. The bustling main dining room, which overlooks the real el, has a miniature one running overhead and detailing that resembles trusses and girders. A long, narrow second room, carpeted and quieter, is cannily decorated to suggest a railroad car, complete with luggage racks and leather suitcases. Old railroad and theater posters plaster the walls; show tunes typically play in the background.

However the food isn't always on-track, often derailed by misconception or poor execution -- and institutional at best.

For openers, a "veggie stack" no higher than a low sandwich features an oddly tart combo of roasted peppers, goat cheese, tomato and avocado between wrinkled, brown rounds of portobello mushroom. Quesadillas look camera-ready, but the chicken and cheese filling is very salty, and the kitchen has gone crazy with chopped scallions.

More enjoyable is a pizza "with pizzazz," even if the puffy crust is far from the "thin" described, and the topping of asparagus, olives and prosciutto is smothered with so much marinara and cheese, the roasted garlic gets lost. The description of the bucket of ribs invokes Mike Royko's barbecue contests, and though the meaty slabs are too soft and sweet to be winners, the steak fries with them are top-notch.

Burgers, actually billed as a tribute to master builder Mr. Burnham, are said to be freshly ground, but mine -- cooked medium-rare rather than rare as ordered -- is dry around the edges and nothing special, while the almost-black sauteed mushrooms are practically tasteless. The melting-pot beef sandwich -- piled open-face on challah, blanketed by a thick gravy dubbed "balsamic veal jus" and finished with melted mozzarella -- is a sandwich in name only and, except for creamy mashed potatoes, calls to mind cafeteria food.

Of the main courses, tricolor linguine with sea scallops, red and yellow peppers, canned artichoke hearts and a few spinach leaves gets an interesting twist from copious quantities of capers in the lobster butter sauce. Half a small spit-roasted chicken is crispy skinned but overcooked. It comes on a bed of incredibly sticky, egregiously salty mushroom risotto.

Banana tiramisu, with gelatinous gray-brown stuff over espresso-soaked ladyfingers, and chocolate tiramisu the consistency of partially hardened cement are two of the worst desserts I've ever had. A brownie baked in a skillet is the color of carrot cake, and the chocolate sauce is -- inexplicably -- under the pan, but at least the crumbly concoction is edible. Citrus sorbet is the safest bet.

Inattentive, careless, sloppy, poorly paced service needs as much work as the food. But given an almost captive audience and the paucity of downtown restaurants, big or small, there's not much incentive to invest the time and effort necessary to make the place run like . . . a well-maintained train.